The Potter Identity
by vw-power
Summary: Heavily influenced by the Bourne series of movies.  A young man thought dead is pulled from the ocean.  In spite of serious injuries, he is alive but unable to remember anything about his past.  How will he uncover the secrets his former life holds?
1. Prologue

Uploaded: 04/01/2011

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><p><strong>The Potter Identity<strong>

**Prologue**

Jan de Graaf studied his hand, brow furrowed as he analyzed the possibilities. Returning the cards to their previous face-down position, he switched his focus to the men around the small table in the bowels of the ancient fishing boat _Brandaen_. His longtime friend Gerard folded, then stared at the pot with a rueful look, shaking his head wistfully as if thinking about all the possibilities now lost because those coins would not be in his possession. The young deckhand Wolter looked edgy has he pushed the few coins still in his possession toward the center of the table; just enough to call. _'He is praying for a miracle' _thought Jan with some vindictive satisfaction. The young man was not a threat.

Roelof was another matter. His visage was like it always was: Stern, unreadable, and demanding. Just the qualities you wanted in your captain, and exactly what you expected from a Dutchman. But in poker, that look infuriated Jan. He couldn't remember how many hundreds of Euros – and before that, probably thousands of Gilders – he had lost to the man over the years at this very table. Suddenly his two pair of Queens over nines felt inadequate.

With a grunt Roelof pushed a few coins across the table to call and motioned for Jan to show his two pair. Wolter sagged as he flashed a pair of kings and nothing else. Roelof hadn't changed expression at all; he merely stacked his cards and set them on the table face-up, showing a seven of hearts. With his extended index finger he slid the seven of hearts off to the right, revealing a six of clubs. Jan tightened his jaw as one by one each card came into view. Five of spades. Four of hearts. And three of diamonds. The captain managed to slap together a straight and only now as he raked in the 20-odd euros that littered the table did he crack a smile.

Jan had enough poker for one night, preferring to keep a few euros for his own use instead of funding … whatever it was the captain did when they were in port. Climbing the stairs he heard the steady downpour pounding against the decks. Thankfully the seas were unusually calm, but that also meant the rain was relentless since there was no impetus to push the weather away. Pushing himself under a ledge on the boat's superstructure, he pulled out a half-smoked cigar and fumbled with the cheap matchbook a few moments before successfully striking.

For several minutes, all Jan could concentrate on was the rhythmic sound of rain, the burning embers at the end of his cigar, and the euros lost to Roelof. With a final sigh, he took one more drag on his cigar and stared out at the vast dark waters of the North Sea. Ten more days before back in port …

Stepping out into the rain long enough to pitch his spent cigar into the sea, he caught a faint speck of light out in the dark waters. Given the _Brandaen_ was at least 50 kilometers from the nearest land mass, Jan couldn't help but be curious as to what that light was all about. Stepping back under the protection of the ledge he first cleaned the water drops off his glasses before affixing them back in place and squinting through the sheets of rain.

It was definitely a light … a whitish-blue light. But it was only one light and didn't appear to be flashing – how could that be? A ship would have several lights and a buoy that might be adrift would have a flashing light.

His curiosity piqued, Jan decended the stairs and once again entered the small room. Wolter had vanished, leaving just Gerard and Roelof at the table Jan himself abandoned not twenty minutes prior. Without preamble Jan started, "There's something in the water."

Roelof arched an eyebrow but beyond that did not change expression nor question him. The two men had worked together for the better part of two decades; Jan knew Roelof trusted him. If he thought this warranted the captain's attention, Roelof would surely check it out. Gerard exchanged a quick look between the two men before falling in step behind the captain as they ascended the stairs.

Reaching the deck, Jan took a moment to regain his bearings and pointed wordlessly toward the faint light. Roelof shielded his eyes from the downpour, quickly caught sight of the light Jan had indicated, and jerked his head once in agreement. "Suit up and grab the hook. I'll drop the raft."

The two men strode back into the hold to gear up before either had a chance to think about the captain's orders. "Does he think that's a body out there?" Gerard asked as he finished pulling on the rubberized waders.

"It appears that way. I'm sure he's had to recover more than a few bodies in his day." Gerard nodded grimly as the two men crossed the deck and clambered into the emergency raft. Roelof unhooked the winches and pushed the men out into the North Sea for their 200 meter journey.

As the raft approached, Jan could make out that it was indeed a body. A few more meters passed and he could now tell it was floating face-up and holding … something … that gave off that eerie glow. As Gerard maneuvered the raft into position, the wake kicked up by the outboard motor caused the body to shift and the light suddenly vanished. Jan didn't give this a second thought and went about hooking the body and dragging it across the water so that he and Gerard could pull it out of the water without falling in themselves.

Soon Jan had the body pulled close enough to the boat so that he could grab and arm and Gerard could grab a leg. With a final tug they managed to flop the body into the boat and Gerard quickly scooted away from it in order to take the prop, leaving Jan to do the dirty work. "Weak," Jan muttered, glaring at Gerard with contempt. Gerard was a fine sailor and a good fisherman, but lacked the leadership in situations like this to ever be a captain.

The body recovered belonged to a man in probably his late teens or early twenties – _'Far too young to meet such a fate,'_ Jan thought. With a cursory look, Jan noted he had signs of grievous injuries; undoubtedly he crossed someone and they exacted their revenge by feeding him to the fishes. _'Life is simpler on the boat than on land,' _Jan mused.

"Why do you figure he's wearing those weird clothes?" Gerard piped up as they slowed their pace in order to allow Roelof to pull them back in. Jan furrowed his brow before concentrating on the boy's appearance again. Sure enough, he was clothed in some odd cloak thing that came down to mid-calf, but had track pants on underneath it.

Gerard maneuvered the raft alongside the _Brandaen_ and hooked up the winch lines. Grabbing the controls, Roelof winched up the raft and its occupants until all were back on the main deck. "Take the body below then return the gear. I'll handle it." With no other instruction he turned back to the raft in order to bail some of the water out and affix the cover. Gerard and Jan looked at each other and, shrugging, Jan lifted the young man over his shoulder to take him below while Gerard grabbed the hook and headed to return the equipment.

A few minutes later Jan wiggled out of the waders and handed them to Gerard, who took them wordlessly and ascended the stairs to return them to the top deck. "Close the door. You may stay if you wish." Roelof intoned to Jan, waving in the direction of the door that led back to the crew quarters where Wolter's head poked around the doorframe.

Despite the grisly subject, Jan felt this was a rare opportunity and another sign of trust on Roelof's part. He quickly closed the door, shooting a glare at Wolter in the process, and locked it before returning to the captain's side. Roelof produced a notebook and pen, indicating that Jan should take notes. "23rd April, 2001 at … 10:40pm. Male body probably around 20 years old pulled from North Sea at 55 degrees, 2 minutes, 48.9 seconds North latitude, 0 degrees, 46 minutes, 48.1 seconds E longitude." Roelof picked up a knife to cut away the strange cloak before continuing. "Looks British … dark hair, maybe 1.9 meters tall … severe trauma of the right arm …one … no, two apparent … gunshot wounds, perhaps … one in the left shoulder, one in the abdomen … large cuts crossing chest and neck … and …"

Jan looked up, unsure why Roelof stopped suddenly. Following the captain's gaze, he could see the blood seeping from the wounds just described and the skin turning slightly pink. "Is he …" Jan started, only to trail off as the captain climbed up on the table with surprising agility in order to place his ear near the young man's chest. Roelof's face told Jan all he needed to know as his eyebrows rose in surprise: The man was alive.

Suddenly a left arm snaked around the captain's neck and the two men fell off the far side of the table. Jan stood rooted to the floor in shock, only to have his rigor broken by Roelof's sudden shouts and curses. Somehow the young man had revived, proving beyond all doubt he was very much alive. Despite his weakened state, he managed to get the captain into a headlock and attempted to pick up the knife from off the floor where it resided after the fall dislodged it from Roelof's grasp. Thankfully for both the captain and Jan, the man's pulverized right arm prevented him from doing anything with that knife except loosely hold it near his side, his arm bobbing uncontrolled with each movement between the two men.

"Please, calm down!" Jan shouted in accented English. "We don't mean to harm you!"

"Who are you?" the young man demanded, fixing Jan with a piercing glare that was made more unnerving by his dark green eyes.

"We are fishermen! Only fishermen! We saw you floating in the sea and pulled you in. We thought you were dead!"

"Are you the captain?"

"I am," replied Roelof in a strangled voice, his skin turning bluish due to lack of oxygen.

"Please, just let the captain go," begged Jan. "We're only trying to help. Please, calm down. Who are you? How did you get in the water?"

While the man didn't immediately let him go, he did loosen his grip and allowed Roelof to gasp down much-needed breaths of air as he tried to concentrate on the question Jan asked. "I … I'm … I don't know …" Suddenly shock etched the young man's features and he began to shake. "Oh, Merlin!" he slurred before slumping to the floor unconscious. Jan immediately extracted Roelof from the man's grip and both sailors clambered as far away as possible in the small room before leaning against the far wall as they attempted to recover.

Roelof rubbed his throat and took several more deep breaths before turning to look at Jan. "Did he just say 'Oh, Merlin'?"


	2. Chapter 1

Uploaded: 4/24/11

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><p><strong>The Potter Identity<strong>

**Chapter 1**

"Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

"No," the young man tonelessly replied for what seemed like the tenth time.

Jan peered at the man's eyes and noticed they looked truly baffled. They tried everything – word games, puzzles, physical activities, pictures. The man was smart and clearly had some rote physical memory, but nothing would jog any sort of mental recollection for the poor man. Jan stood up, stretched, and offered a reassuring pat on the back. "The best thing to do is get back on your feet. It will come back to you." He softly closed the door and ascended to the main deck, hoping his declaration would somehow come true.

"Blasted rain," Jan muttered to himself, pulling his coat tighter so that the collar pressed against his neck in a futile effort to keep the rivulets of water from making their way down his spine. Checking on their 'English Patient', as the crew had coined this unknown man, gave Jan a brief reprieve from working the nets on deck. Unfortunately he hadn't thought to properly gear up into the rubbers beforehand. As a result, he was suffering through a short, wet sprint up the superstructure.

Roelof turned to fix Jan with a stare as he entered the navigation room. Whether this was to get his report or to cut short his cursing, Jan wasn't entirely sure. Nevertheless, Roelof somehow succeeded on both fronts. "No change," Jan called out as he shook the last bit of water off his sleeves before going in search of some coffee. Roelof merely grunted and resumed tweaking their planned route back to port.

Feeling much more chipper now that he had successfully located coffee and held the cup in his hand, Jan looked at the captain's handiwork and tight, quick scribbles that littered the latest navigational chart. "The Englishman can be on the deck tomorrow. I think the activity will do him some good."

Roelof merely grunted, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.

Swirling the contents of his coffee cup a few moments, Jan tried again. "We get back to port in three days, Captain. What then?"

Taking off his glasses, Roelof pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly. After a long pause, the captain replied, "We give him some funds and wish him well."

"… That's it?"

"That's it."

Jan swirled the coffee some more and thought about the captain's 'plan'. But how would this young man know where to go? And upon landing in Delfzijl, how was he even going to enter the Netherlands? He didn't have papers and he didn't know his name.

"Captain – "

"That's it," Roelof reinforced, raising an eyebrow in warning.

Jan continued to stare back questioningly before finally succumbing. Jan took one last pull of coffee before nodding once. "I'll head down and see what the catch looks like."

Roelof held Jan's gaze for a bit before grunting in agreement, placing his glasses back on his nose, and returning to the charts.

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><p>"You're good at this, Bloke! Perhaps the Captain will keep you aboard!"<p>

"Or perhaps you're a fisherman and just didn't realize it!"

The young man forced a small smile and shrugged a bit before grabbing another net off the winch and pulling it in with relative ease. It wasn't a bad thought, really; staying here on the boat and working with the crew until his memories came back. If his memories came back.

After a couple of hours, he got the hang of what the crew was trying to explain to him in their not-quite-right English – 'Dinglish' as they called it, laughing to each other like they had just told some wondrous joke. He quite liked being outside and working with others – was this something new for him? Had he never done manual labor before? Between nets he looked at his hands and, save for the makeshift cast adorning his broken wrist and hand that the captain and Jan fashioned, noticed the calloused patches on his palm and finger pads that seemed to indicate a life filled with honest work. But just like all the other times over the past few days, pushing his mind to dredge up any sort of memory only resulted in hazy, shadowed recollections of a man and bright flashes of colored light. Fighting off the growing headache that always seemed to accompany his attempts at recollection, the young man gave it up as a bad job and resumed his concentration to catch the trawling nets as they sped towards him on the winch lines.

Hearing the crew's combination of English instruction and Dutch vulgarities while 'helping' their new addition get acclimated, Jan glared at Gerard and Wolter – but neither noticed and continued their non-stop commentary. Both men started calling the mysterious young man 'Bloke' rather than the 'English Patient', simply because the original moniker was too awkward and slow to pronounce for the Dutchmen. While several more colorful names had been suggested under the influence of last night's drinking and smoking, the Captain stepped in and chose the bland 'Bloke'. Jan couldn't decide if it was out of mercy for the young man or due to the raucous laughter grating on his nerves. Either way, the Captain called him Bloke – everyone else would do the same.

Regardless of the incessant chatter caused by bringing this young man out on the deck to work, Jan did have to admit that Bloke could certainly hold his own as a crew member on the _Brandaen._ The man wasn't much to look at physically but certainly had a wiry strength. He was also exceptionally coordinated, easily acclimating to the motion of the vessel and the tricky footing around the wet deck. He also possessed amazing reflexes, drawing the nets off the winch as if they were magnetically attracted to his fingers. Perhaps the Captain should just keep him aboard this ship …

Above the deck, Roelof slowly guided the _Brandaen_ through the swells in order to intercept the next net. Stealing a few glances down toward the deck, he noted the same characteristics in Bloke that Jan saw despite his distant vantage point. But instead of thoughts about adding Bloke as a deck hand, Roelof kept thinking about the young man's injuries. They seemed to heal so fast – much too fast given he himself figured this was a dead man when his crew pulled the body out of the sea just nine days prior. And his hand! After realizing the man was alive, they created a clunky cast around his shattered hand and forearm just to mobilize the appendage; they didn't want all those bone fragments to pierce through the skin. But the young man actually had some movement in his fingers – signs that the hand and wrist were somehow knitting together despite the fact neither one did much more than try and 'push' the bones around into some semblance of a hand-like shape before encasing it in resin and fiberglass strips.

There was something about Bloke that intrigued Roelof, yet made him wary at the same time. The odd cloak he wore when they pulled him in. The strange injuries he suffered. The fact they were at least 50km from any kind of land mass when they found him, yet he didn't appear to have been on a boat when lost at sea. Not to mention the instincts shown when he unexpectedly revived on the table that first night – the instincts of a fighter … one who had much practice.

At the end of the day, Roelof liked this young man Bloke – he really did. But something about him wasn't right, and the Captain couldn't help but feel he was endangering his men, and his boat, the longer Bloke was around. As a result, the Captain couldn't wait to get back to port tomorrow and rid the _Brandaen_ of him for good.

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><p>"Jan," Roelof called out, holding a short cigar in his hand. For his part, Jan merely raised an eyebrow as he took the proffered gift before rising from his seat and following the captain out of the room and up to the top deck.<p>

The rain cleared a few days ago, driven by the northerly wind, and now Jan could see a few stars showing through the clouds. Wordlessly Roelof lit his cigar and held the stainless steel lighter out for Jan to light up as well. Knowing it best to wait until Roelof was good and ready to talk, Jan looked at the sky while pulling on the cigar to get just the right burn going.

"I've negotiated to drop the catch at Bremerhaven," Roelof started. "From there we will head back to Delfzijl. It shouldn't add more than half a day to our journey."

Jan merely nodded, but inside his mind spun numerous questions. After a few more puffs in silence, Jan ventured, "Are the prices better in Bremerhaven?"

"A bit," was all Roelof cared to offer.

"So we will offload all of our catch at Bremerhaven?" Jan questioned, this time turning to study his captain with a bit more scrutiny.

Roelof furrowed his brow before extinguishing his half-smoked cigar on the superstructure's wall. Rubbing his gnarled fingers over the end to ensure it was properly extinguished, he tucked the remaining stub back into the pocket of his pullover. With intense eyes, he gazed back at the first mate. "All of it."

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><p>The Englishman looked toward the nearing shoreline with apprehension. He still had no idea who he was or where he came from. Being on the boat tempered the frustration as it was a world unto itself. He didn't know fundamental things about his life, but somehow it was okay. Now … not so much.<p>

He pushed himself more and more these past few hours, still only able to remember a shadowy figure and bright colored flashes. The only new aspect to these vague recollections were that there might have been two different vantage points – one sitting and one lying prone on the ground or a bed. While he couldn't decide whether this meant anything, he did know that none of it was helping him with the issues at hand – who was he and where was he going to go?

Exhaling in frustration, all he could do was wait and see how things played out. The captain specifically asked him to stay topside today and out of the way of the crew's frenzied activities. That left nothing to do but occasionally help direct the cranes and watch the shoreline approach.

"Bloke! Down in the hold!" Roelof's voice barked out from the navigation deck before the captain disappeared back into the superstructure. Trotting quickly below deck, he found a spot to help load frozen blocks of fish onto pallets – not the best job on the boat but something to occupy his mind.

Before he could really get going though, Jan pulled him roughly out of the workline. "No, not here. Come this way." Bewildered, Bloke could only be dragged along toward the offloading area where completed pallets were being wrapped and strapped. After winding through a maze of access paths between the pallets, Jan stopped abruptly and gestured to one pallet in particular.

The Englishman looked back and forth between the pallet and the increasingly agitated Jan for a beat before dropping to his hands and knees. Shimmying through a small opening, he managed to wiggle into a large cavity that Jan and the crew formed inside the layers of fish crates. With just enough room to sit up and tuck his knees to his chest, Bloke oriented himself upright just in time to see a thermos roll toward his feet. "Open it when you feel the pallet hit ground," Jan whispered before darkness descended.

Jan quickly built up the exterior wall of the pallet with more crates before wrapping and strapping the load securely. He intentionally chose one of the first dozen or so pallets to be offloaded, hoping the wiry man could survive the cold well enough in the meantime. Now he could only hope all worked out for the best, and that the _Brandaen_ was far, far away if the plan went awry.

This was one of those circumstances where Jan had to trust Roelof's judgment without question. True, if things went terribly pear-shaped he would be just as much at fault as Roelof for smuggling humans into the EU. But one of the reasons Jan stayed on the _Brandaen_ for all these years was Roelof's leadership. He may not be the best communicator or have a sparkling personality, but the ship and crew always came first. He would not jeopardize those who showed him loyalty.

The pallet now secure, it was time to get back to the business at hand: Finish staging their catch and unloading as quickly as possible. Walking back to the exposed hold, Jan looked up and saw Roelof standing above, puffing his short cigar from the previous night. Sending up a small nod to show that the plan was in motion, Jan mentally snapped back to the task of preparing their load for sale.

Bloke kept his knees tucked to his chest, trying to hold whatever body heat he could. The cold, the darkness, and the overwhelming smell of fish combined to make for an interminable wait before he finally heard the crew fasten the load straps around his temporary home. Soon the pallet began to sway gently and tiny lines of daylight illuminated the icy blocks surrounding the young man, casting a silvery-blue sheen to the darkness.

A few seconds later the pallet hit the ground, the sound punctuated by the workers German commentary to each other. Remembering Jan's last words, Bloke found the thermos and unscrewed the cap. Rather than coffee or soup, he found rolls of bills. Despite not being able to see exactly how much the crew gave him, Bloke still felt appreciative of their help.

His reverie was broken when the crates suddenly moved, revealing a startled German dock worker on the other side. "_Who the hell are you?"_ the worker blurted out in German, immediately brandishing his pallet puller in the direction of the stow-away.

Bloke slowly extended his fist, containing a roll of bills. "_I am nobody_," he simply replied, surprised to hear the German words tumble forth. The worker, still keeping his tensed pose, gestured toward the ground with the pallet puller. Bloke complied, seeing for the first time that close to 500 euros were stuffed into that thermos.

The worker stared at the bills, unconsciously licking his lips. Finally he relented and stooped to pick up the roll. Fixing the young man with a stare, he slowly backed away before finally turning to walk toward the next pallet placed on the dock.

Not needing to be told twice, Bloke scooted himself out of his hiding place and briskly walked towards the city. Now came the hard part – where was he going to go?


End file.
